


The Other Him

by pippen2112



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication, Developing Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Mating Bond, Memory Loss, Men Crying, Mutual Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, WidoFjord Week 2019, pre-existing relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 15:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: In which Dunemancy is a plot device and Fjord gets deaged and forgets the Mighty Nein.





	The Other Him

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Widofjord Week Day 2 prompts "Intimacy" and "Insecurity."
> 
> For anyone concerned about the Age Difference tag, Fjord is deaged physically and mentally to around 19 in this fic (it's hard to know for sure since he probably doesn't know how old he is) and Caleb is probably mid-thirties. They were in a previous relationship before the deaging/memory loss, and I don't emphasize the age difference too much (I don't think), but if age differences squick you, this is probably not the fic for you.
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to the CritGoals discord as well as the WidoFjord discord for cheering me on, especially to the folks in WidoFjord who inspired this fic.

When Fjord comes to, he remembers a purple light flashing across his mind, so bright it knocked him on his ass; when it fades, there’s a human standing over him. A clean-shaven man in fine tailored clothes, with a mess of auburn curls tied back out of his face, a deep wrinkle between his dark brows, and eyes bluer than he’s ever seen, bright and sparkling, and something in Fjord’s chest clenches at the sight of him. Something empty and aching and howling.

Behind him, there’s a scuttling of footsteps, and a shrill voice shouts, “Caleb! What happened? Are you hurt?”

The human standing over him flushes and looks up, speaking in a gentle, accented voice. “I’m fine, _liebling_. A piece of dunemancy went awry, and I think…”

The footsteps stall behind him, and a gruff, female voice says, “Yeah, I think you blew the skunk stripe outta Fjord’s hair with that one.”

Fjord cranes his head back farther, finds a human woman in blue monk’s robes holding a bo-staff at her side, a broad-shouldered, pale barbarian woman with a great sword on her back, and a hooded goblin girl with a crossbow at the ready. Before he can speak, the goblin looks him over and comments, “Fjord, did you get scrawnier?”

He glances down at his form and freezes at the sight of the armor he’s wearing, bulky around the shoulders and loose across his chest. When he pushes himself to sit up, his arms shake a little under the weight of it. But now that he’s upright, he’s aware of the clothes hanging off him, just like the armor. Too big. Much too big for his frame.

Ringing swells in his ears, his chest heaving as he tries to focus. The last thing he remembers was Sabien elbowing him in the side as they bedded down for the night in one of the local hostels. The pair of them had just managed to squeeze into the narrow bed together, but in the cold of winter, it was better than spending a night on the streets. And now he’s here, wherever that is because he severely doubts this is Port Damali. Surrounded by strangers. Wearing a stranger’s armor.

_What the fuck happened last night?_

“Fjord?” He looks up to find the red-headed human crouched in front of him, a soot-stained hand extended toward him.

He scrambles backward until his back hits stone, bracing against the wall. His heart hammers in his chest, and he pants for breath, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“What’s going on?” comes a trilling, feminine voice as a little blue tiefling and a staggeringly tall firbolg appear behind the others. The tiefling tilts her head to the side, her tail flicking back and forth as she approaches. Before she gets too close, the red-headed human holds out an arm, stalling her progress. She shoots the human an odd look, then turns back to Fjord. “Are you okay, Fjord?”

His throat constricts, and he hunkers down, resting his head between his knees but it does little to stop the swell of noise in his head. The staccato drumming of his heartbeat. The tension in his chest. The cold confusion and scorching panic. His skin feels too tight around him. His lungs clench around nothing. He digs his claws into the stone behind him, but it feels like someone else is moving for him while his mind writhes.

Suddenly, a wave of warmth washes over him, quieting the turmoil inside him, damming it up at the back of his mind where it can’t reach him. He takes a long, deep breath, and looks up to find the firbolg standing a little closer, a dimly radiant hand extended toward him. The firbolg smiles at him. “Good to have you settled, Mr. Fjord. I’m afraid the effects aren’t permanent, but I’ll keep it going as long as you need,” the firbolg says, his voice deep and resonant and all-encompassing like a hug.

He exhales, long and slow, taking in the motley crew assembled around him, his eyes flicking from person to person, searching for some clue about what’s going on. Only the goblin girl gives him pause, but that’s probably due to the crossbow she’s still pointing at him. He pushes his fringe out of his face and carefully asks, “Where… where am I? Who are all of you?”

The group exchange looks, too fast for him to make anything of them, but the red-headed human gives him pause. For a split second, pain splinters across the human’s face before he stands and withdraws to the back of the group. Out of the room, if the fading footsteps are anything to go on. Another set follows, the barbarian.

Fjord’s heart lurches, the impulse to give chase thrumming in his veins. He frowns down at his legs and stays still. _What was that feeling?_

The goblin leans toward the monk and whispers, “He’s talking in a different accent! I told you he was—”

The monk deftly grabs the goblin from behind and clasp a hand over her mouth as she walks away. “Jess, Caddy, you got this?”

“Of course,” the tiefling and firbolg say in unison. The tiefling approaches him and offers him a hand up. “Why don’t we get you set up somewhere more comfortable?”

Nodding uncertainly, Fjord takes her hand, and she hauls him to his feet with surprising strength. The tiefling leads him through this strange house, murals of strange and wondrous scenes littering the walls, then up a spiral stair and into a small, dark bedroom. Unlike the rest of the house, this room is sparse, just a bed, a wash stand, and a few odds and ends on a desk. The tiefling pulls him to sit against the edge of the bed, slotting in beside him as the firbolg sits cross-legged across from them. She squeezes his hand and offers a smile. “Hello Fjord. This is Caduceus. I’m Jester,” she ducks in closer and stage-whispers, “we’re best friends,” before continuing at her previous volume. “Welcome to the Mighty Nein!”

#

_… three months later…_

#

Winter comes heavy in Xhorhas, cold and damp and biting in a way he never experienced on the coast. Fjord shudders, huddled under all the spare blankets he’s been able to hoard since the first snowfall of the year. It never got this cold in Port Demali. He’s still not sure how he’s gonna survive until spring.

The last three months have been challenging to say the least. Since waking up from a dunemancy experiment gone awry, something that de-aged his physical form and walled him off from his history, Fjord has slowly recovered a good chunk of his memories. He remembers Vandren and the Tide’s Breath, meeting the Mighty Nein, and a great deal of their adventures. Bits and pieces of how a rag-tag group of misfits became a family. His family. But not everything.

The team has done what they can to help him. Jester’s been diligent about telling him stories, encouraging him to fill in the gaps even though he’s learned to take some of her tellings with a grain of salt. Caduceus leads him through morning meditation to help reach the hidden parts of his mind. Beau and Yasha have taken to sparring with him and lending a sympathetic ear whenever he’s feeling down, Beau especially even if her brand of sympathy involves calling him a “dumbass.”

The only ones who are in any way distant are Nott and Caleb. He’s done his best to be polite and make friends with Nott during his first weeks with the Mighty Nein, but that only seemed to make Nott more cross with him. Since then, he’s done his best to stay out of her way. Caleb, however—

The ache in his chest throbs. It’s not hunger gnawing at his insides like he knew in the Driftwood Orphanage. Not the cold prickling at his toes from nights when he couldn’t scrounge up enough coin for a bed at the local hostel. No, this ache is something different. It writhes beneath his skin, a cold he can’t shiver through, a hunger he can’t satisfy. Fjord rubs at his chest, right over his heart, the skin smooth and unmarred and wrong.

—Caleb is another matter. Because the other Fjord and Caleb were together. Bonded body, mind, and soul. Caleb had been hesitant to reveal the full extent of his and Fjord’s relationship, but he’d come around to a few less than subtle questions. It baffles him, the thought that some day someone like Caleb would want him.

 _Not you,_ a dark voice in his mind whispers. _Why would a runt like you be good enough for anyone?_ Instinctively, Fjord fists his hands, hissing as his claws scrape against his chest. He hates that demeaning voice in his head, mostly because it’s not wrong. Caleb didn’t pick him, a gangly, chubby-cheeked spitfuck with more than his fair share of anxieties and aggressive impulses. Given what he’s heard about his older self, he can understand why Caleb would pick that guy. Well-spoken, intelligent, handsome, powerful—powerful enough he had a god for a patron. And Fjord just…isn’t.

But nevertheless, he _wants._ His body is unclaimed, and his mind is still half-lost in a jumble of who he was and who he is down, but his soul yearns for the connection. The closeness. The comfort. He wants so bad it hurts.

_No use trying to sleep now._

Grumbling under his breath, Fjord drapes a blanket around his shoulders over his baggy sleep clothes and creeps downstairs. All around him, the house is still. Only the quiet patter of snowfall on the roof and the heavy rumble of Caduceus’s snores echo through the second storey. Instinct leads him to the training room, but he knows if he starts up hand-to-hand training, he’s not gonna stop until Beau shows up for her morning routine, and she’ll smack him for working too hard—he’s done it before, and he’s smart enough to know this raw feeling in his chest isn’t something he can work through on his own.

However, across the training room, he spies a dim light flickering from under the library door. Head cocked, Fjord approaches, tries the handle, and finds it unlocked. As he eases open the door, lamplight spills out from the arcane lamp at the desk, a familiar red-head hunched over the desk in his shirtsleeves and trousers. He picks up quiet Zemnian mutterings, the snick of a quill nib against parchment, the faint smell of woodsmoke, and his throat constricts.

_Caleb._

He should turn around and sneak back upstairs. Huddle in his blanket cocoon and toss and turn until the sun rises. Bury the needy ache so deep in his chest it suffocates. That’d be the smart thing to do. But as Fjord shifts his weight, Caleb lifts his head, turning toward the door with a creased brow. “Fjord?” Caleb pauses long enough to set his pen down carefully and stand. “Are you alright?”

His heart throbs at the sincerity. Fuck, he’s had literal months to get used to this—the care all the Mighty Nein have for each other and, by extension, him—but it continues to catch him off guard. Cheeks warming, Fjord drops a half-step back into the darkness, hoping Caleb won’t be able to make out his flush. “I’m fine,” he says quickly, his native accent light on his lips, another marker of how different he is from the other him. But that’s a worry for another time. He stares down at the floor, searching for a knot in the wood. “Well, nothing is the matter, at least…”

 _He’s got more important matters to deal with than your stupid feelings_ , the unkind voice in his mind jeers. Fjord exhales purposefully and reminds himself that since Caleb opened up about their history together, Caleb has offered time and again that he’s always there to talk if Fjord wished. He’s wanted here. He’s… loved, he admits through a veneer of disbelief.

“Trouble sleeping?”

He nods.

“I suspected as much,” Caleb says, shuffling papers around on the desk.

From the corner of his eye, Fjord watches Caleb cross to the drab sofa on the wall opposite the alchemical work bench and sit to one side, the empty space an invitation Fjord is hesitant to take. Instead, he holds his position in the doorway, glancing up. “Suspected?”

Caleb nods, one of his hands coming up to rest on the side of his neck, thumbing the collar over where the mating mark resides. Just the thought of that dark red scar makes the ache in Fjord’s chest swell and sing. He fists his hands in the blankets wrapped around him to stop from pressing against his chest, seeking out the matched mark that disappeared three months ago. But Caleb speaks, distracting him. “It is an effect of the bond we share. A connection to one another’s mind. It is fading bit by bit each day. I do my best to disregard it, to give you your privacy, but some flares are too strong to be ignored.”

Fjord gulps hard. Caleb…knows what he’s feeling. What he’s thinking. Fjord shifts a little in his stance, trying not to be intimidated by Caleb’s connection to the other him. The him he won’t become for years and years. The him he might never become. He squeezes his eyes shut, but his mouth is already moving without him. “When I changed, could you feel what I was feeling?”

Glancing to the side, Caleb nods. “ _Ja_ ,” he says, his cheeks bright. “I felt it. I hadn’t felt that kind of fear and confusion in a long time. At first I thought it might be a feedback loop, my fear feeding yours and yours feeding mine, but…” He trails off, biting his lip and shaking his head. “I am sorry, Fjord.”

His gut drops out from under him, and he crosses the room to Caleb’s side without realizing. “It’s alright, Caleb,” Fjord says, reaching for Caleb’s shoulder but stopping short and hiding his hand back in his blankets. “You didn’t do anything intentionally.”

“I cast the spell,” Caleb murmurs, leaning forward on his knees and still not looking at him. “I knew the risks, but I couldn’t resist that kind of power.”

Throat constricted, Fjord thinks of the stories he’s heard about the other him, the power he could wield, the ends he’d gone to to attain it, to appease his patron. A few times he’s reached for the power, felt flickers of it in his fingertips, but the magic always fizzles out before it can take shape. Yet another way he’s lacking. “For what it’s worth, I don’t hold it against you. I don’t think he did either.”

“You are kind,” Caleb says. “Too kind.”

Fjord shifts foot to foot, dread tightening in his stomach like a lead ball. He’s rarely spent so long one on one with Caleb, and he’s never seen the wizard so emotional. He’s eager to dispel the tension, so he grabs for a new subject. “If you don’t mind me asking, how long were you bonded?”

“Nine months and thirteen days,” Caleb says, a small smile warming the corners of his mouth. “Fourteen now. We had been together for almost two years, then. The bond was… more a moment’s passion than something planned, but we were of the same mind on the subject. When he realized he’d marked me, his eyes went wide as tea saucers. I had to scramble for my caterpillar cocoon to Polymorph myself and mark him back before he ran off and second-guessed himself.”

Nodding slowly, he rubs his chest, heart hammering beneath the unmarked skin. The ache eats at him, but he stands tall and forces himself to laugh. “That sounds…” But he can’t put words to the tangle of jealousy and longing the story evokes in him.

“I’m sorry you’ve been thrust into this,” Caleb says abruptly. When Fjord looks back to him, Caleb’s eyes are fixed on him, heavy with sorrow. “Into another man’s life. Another man’s relationship. None of this is fair to you.”

“I don’t mind,” he says instinctively, thoughtlessly.

Caleb goes stock still, his eyes freezing in place for a moment before flitting toward Fjord. “You… you don’t?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to say that, to offer up so much of himself in three small words. He glances down at his sock-clad feet and frowns. “How much did he tell you about where he came from?”

“Some,” Caleb whispers, sounding every bit as hesitant as Fjord feels. “Not as much as I wanted to know, but more than I expected I’d get.”

Fjord takes a deep breath, unclenches his jaw, and speaks. “Port Demali is a trade hub, so you see a wide variety of people any given day. Even so, most people take one look at me and take me for a brute. A monster. A ball of badly contained impulses. The few friends I had weren’t worth the mud on their boots. They were all the type to cut and run when things got dicey rather than sticking their neck out for anyone,” he says, pain swelling at the back of his throat. He glances pointedly around the room, thinking beyond the physical walls of the house to the home, the people he’s come to trust and love. Tears burn behind his eyes, but he holds them back. “I’ve never known this. Never had people who gave two shits about my continued existence. I know the other me did, for a while, but… well, in the five years since the orphanage kicked me to the curb, I never got a full night’s rest without the fear I’d wake with a knife in my back. Is it so hard to believe I’d choose this life over that one?”

When he looks back, Caleb’s watching him intently, the corners of his eyes tight. He bites his lip looking down at his hands. “No, it isn’t. But still, it cannot be easy for you.”

“It isn’t,” Fjord says, swallowing hard to ease the ache in his chest. “In no way is it easy. But it’s better than I could have hoped for.” A family. A home. Love and support. Emotion grows heavy in his throat, but Fjord looks toward Caleb and does his best to smile. “All of it.”

Caleb’s head jerks up, eyes wide and cheeks turning redder by the second. His throat bobs, his jaw working sporadically as he struggles for a response. After a long moment, Caleb meets his gaze and sputters, “O-o-oh.”

 _The bond! He felt that._ All at once, Fjord blanches at the realization. He snaps his gaze forward, tension creeping up his spine. There he’s gone again, feeling too much when he has no right to feel. Head hanging, he shakes his head. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to—”

A warm, worn hands takes his, a scarred palm rasping across the back of his hand and scorched fingertips pressing into his palm, holding tight. “You didn’t,” Caleb says, and the quiet reassurance settles the turmoil in his chest. If only for a moment. Fjord sits stock still, afraid if he so much as breathes wrong all this will melt away and reveal itself to be a dream. After a minute’s silence, Caleb goes on. “I am… surprised is all.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

From the corner of his vision, he sees a small, self-deprecating smile quirk across Caleb’s features. “Maybe so, but you are young and full of promise, and I am… not.”

Frowning, Fjord turns his hand in Caleb’s, twining their fingers together and holding tight. “I don’t want young and full of promise. I want you.” _In for a copper, in for a pound,_ he thinks, the words rushing out in a quick breath, leaving him winded and aching. “Every day, I’ve felt this… this emptiness in my chest. I think it’s the bond searching for it’s mate but not making contact. But beyond that, I want to know you. Want to be with you even if…” He trails off, sucking in a sharp breath to silence himself, but the words keep tumbling out of him. “Even if I know I’m not good enough.”

Silence stretches between them for a solid minute. Two. Fjord’s heart pounds in his chest, every uncertainty he’s ever felt screaming in his head at once. _Stupid. Impulsive. Foolish. And now you’ve said it, and nothing’s gonna take those words away. Caleb already had a better version, why would he want you?_

With the weight of the truth falling heavy on his shoulders, tears burning at the corners of his eyes, Fjord stands and pulls away, ready to flee. But Caleb’s hand tightens on his. “Stay,” Caleb says, his voice thick and quiet. “Please.”

Fjord stills, uncertainty and hope warring in him. His breath sticks in his chest when Caleb pulls him back. Close enough Fjord has to stand between Caleb’s thighs, and still he tugs Fjord onward until Fjord is perched in Caleb’s lap. Close enough he can make out all the freckles on Caleb’s blush, can count his eyelashes, can feel the heat radiating off Caleb. And as Caleb lays his hands on Fjord’s waist, Fjord’s chest constricts. “I…”

Caleb hesitates, his hands lifting for a split-second. “Too much?”

Shaking his head, Fjord lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh and rests his forehead against Caleb’s. “I’ve never done this before... I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Caleb laughs as well, a breathy sound, one Fjord doesn’t think he’s heard before, and his heart sputters. “Anywhere you like, _Liebchen,_ but—” With slow, careful motions, Caleb takes Fjords wrists and moves them to Caleb’s waist. “—here is good. Or here.” He moves them to the small of Caleb’s back. “Supportive and steadying. At the shoulder is nice to, but here—” He drapes Fjord’s arms around Caleb’s neck, pulling their bodies flush together as a result. “—This is very close. Intimate. What do you think?”

Fjord gulps hard, willing his voice to work, but it comes out tight and strangled by need and hope. “Good,” he squeaks out. “It good. Real good,” he says, letting a bit of the drawl he remembers slip into his voice.

Something shifts in Caleb’s expression, something pinched and pained. Nevertheless, he returns one hand to Fjord’s waist, sliding it around to the small of Fjord’s back, the other hand cupping his cheek. Foreheads pressed together, Caleb whispers, “You are good enough.”

Biting his lip, Fjord closes his eyes and draws a ragged breath. “You don’t have to—.”

“—Yes, I do,” Caleb interrupts, his voice heated and determined, “because you need to hear it. Believe me when I say you have the world ahead of you. A wide and wondrous world to make your own.” He pauses, taking a long slow breath. “You aren’t him, we both know this, but that doesn’t make you less. And I am proud to know you. And for as long as you will have me, I am yours.” Cradling his face, Caleb wipes away a tear that Fjord hadn’t realized had fallen and holds Fjord close. “I’m going to kiss you now, _ja_?”

In lieu of responding, Fjord leans in and presses his lips to Caleb’s. Beneath the rasp of Caleb’s beard against his cheeks and the press of chapped lips to his, the kiss is soft and sweet and heavy with something Fjord can’t name. Some emotion that rattles into his core and startles a sob out of him. He’s wanted. He’s _loved_. He can’t believe it, can’t contain the storm inside any longer, but Caleb hugs him tight and peppers kisses to his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his forehead. Fjord clings to Caleb, face buried in his chest as he shakes and sobs from relief, and Caleb strokes his hair, murmurs soft reassurances in his ear, and holds him close. “I have you, Fjord _,_ ” Caleb whispers against the crown of his head. “I won’t let you go.”

He nods into Caleb’s collar, too overwhelmed to reply. _I believe you_ , he wants to say _. I’m yours._ Instead, he nuzzles Caleb’s neck and noses at the mating mark, his heart beating wildly.

By the time he’s cried himself out, his back is smarts and his neck is sore. He pushes himself up carefully, head ducked to hide his ruddy cheeks and puffy eyes, but Caleb cups the back of his neck and presses a kiss to his temple. “Alright, _Liebchen_?”

He nods, gazing down at Caleb with a weak grin. “Better. Much better.”

Caleb’s eyes light with joy. “Good. Very good.”

And for the first time in three months, Fjord believes it. Whole heartedly. He kisses Caleb again, still chaste, but slow and gentle, hoping he can convey even a fraction of what he’s feeling. The grateful thump of his heart. The swell of joy. The tremor of want and anticipation. Caleb hums against his lips and returns the kiss. And for the first time in three months, since he first fell into the other him’s life, the ache inside his chest is sated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos, comments, and concrit are always welcome!


End file.
